


What Wondrous Love

by EffervescentYellow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffervescentYellow/pseuds/EffervescentYellow
Summary: Mycroft and Greg meet at a crime scene, and their relationship quickly becomes much more than either of them could have expected.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter contains minor descriptions of a shooting.

Greg normally wouldn’t go to this kind of thing, but he didn’t have a choice in that matter tonight. The Yard was welcoming a new police chief, and there was a whole posh banquet thing for it downtown at a posh French restaurant he’d never have bothered to go to otherwise. So, even though he was exhausted from work and had no interested whatsoever in eating French cuisine that in all likelihood would still be worse than his mother’s, he went home after work, put on his nicest suit, and went to dinner with Sally as his date. 

It was a perfectly boring banquet with perfectly boring food for most of the evening, with Sally talking his ear off about some game show she’d been watching, until just as the speeches started some bloke dressed in all back burst in from the hallway with a semiautomatic and started shooting into the room.

It was over in seconds; the guy was a fucking idiot for thinking he could get away with something like that in a hall full of police officers and other security personnel, but it ended the dinner with a snap. A few people up at the front had been hit in the few seconds that the shooting happened, but from what Greg could see, no one looked in any kind of critical condition. Lucky.

Still, the whole place went on lockdown. Greg and Sally got up quickly and ushered a bunch of people into the doors closest to them, which ended up being the kitchen, where all the workers were now standing in shock over their boiling pots and full cutting boards until Greg shouted at them all to get down and be still. He squatted next to the door, across from Sally, both of them with their guns out, and even though he was pretty sure the situation was over, he wasn’t about to let his guard down until he was sure. The kitchen was a terrible place to be, though. Even with everyone silent, the room still echoed with the bubbling, sizzling, and popping of cooking food, and as the minutes passed, it increasingly smelt of burnt carbon. 

He looked around at the people around him, all of whom seemed to be just civilians or government officials with worried looks that betrayed their lack of security experience except for the one man who happened to be closest to Greg. The man’s face didn’t show any emotion other than complete calm, and he sat perfectly still, hands clasped in his lap, clear blue eyes watching the doors closely. Greg found himself watching back, and when the man noticed, he raised a pointed eyebrow at him, and Greg looked away despite himself. 

When Greg glanced back however, he could see that the pot right above the man’s head was about to boil over and motioned quickly at him to turn the burner off. The man looked up still calmly and switched off the stove, but he acknowledged Greg with what seemed to be a nod of thanks.

After another half hour or so of sitting in silence, one of the guys Greg recognized from the office knocked against the glass window at the top of the swinging doors and gave them the all clear. As most of the people in the room got up shakily and began to talk amongst themselves or call relatives, the red-haired man Greg had been watching just brushed of his suit and made to leave. He got stuck behind a throng of other dinner guests however, and so Greg smiled at him in the tight way people do after they’ve avoided calamity.

“Glad the pot didn’t boil over on you,” Greg said, feeling lame but also feeling as though he should say something.

“Worse things have happened tonight,” the man said stoically, but then conceded, “but yes, I’m glad to have avoided that.”

“Greg Lestrade,” Greg said, sticking out his hand to introduce himself. The man shook it but made no move to return the favor in introductions. 

“Don’t recognize you from the Yard,” Greg said, even though it was perfectly obvious this nicely dressed stranger was not from the Yard, but Greg found himself suddenly wanting to learn more about the man, “What office are you here with?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” he replied in the same stoic tone he’d used earlier, basically confirming Greg’s suspicions that he was with some kind of security, M15 maybe? Greg didn’t know many people in government security when he thought about it.

“Right,” Greg said, “Probably lots of people here who can’t say,” to which the man just hummed in response and then slipped off into the crowd.

oOo

Greg probably wouldn’t have thought about the man for much longer, or maybe he would have, he wouldn’t know, but the Yard was ablaze with news on the case, trying to find the gunman’s motives, whether he’d been working alone, whether he’d been hired. Greg therefore thought about that night all day every day for quite a while longer, and therefore kept thinking of the man as well. He looked up the websites of all the different government ministries he could think of but couldn’t find a picture of the man anywhere. He wasn’t really surprised, but it still bothered him in the way that an unsolved case did. 

Two weeks into the case, they got word from higher ups to drop it. The gunman hadn’t been aiming for the new head of police and was instead intending to take out several members of the PM’s cabinet who were present. Everyone in the office was furious and frankly so was Greg. The crime had occurred at a police function in the presence of most all of the top officers and yet they were now being told the case was out of their purview. 

One of the newer guys in the office, some enthusiastic cop right out of school, wrote a public op-ed about it and got put on leave for a couple of days, and though Greg agreed with the sentiment he wasn’t stupid enough to do something like that. But, the article gained a lot of attention, and so they got word that when the government closed the case, the would give a private briefing to the officers at the Yard. It was pretty demeaning honestly, but better than what they’d been offered before, which was nothing, so after a few more weeks of working on cases that distracted him from the matter, he found himself sitting in the press room along with all his colleagues, drinking a cup of lukewarm drip coffee, and listening to a young guy in a nice suit give the case overview.

Greg was barely listening though. The gunman was found to have been working alone and been motivated by some ties he had to a lucrative drug operation. After the introduction, Greg tuned out the rest; it didn’t matter much at that point. What did matter to him, however, was that sitting in a chair in the corner, long legs crossed, chin in his hand, and a paper cup of coffee sitting loosely in the other, was the same redhaired man Greg had met the night of the incident. 

There was no mistaking him with his ginger orange hair and unwavering gaze. Greg found himself staring at him throughout the rest of the briefing, trying to gleam any possible information from his tie pin or shined oxfords, but all he gleamed was that the man had a good sense of fashion and had enough money to do it right. He looked bored, too, like he had heard the same information and same questions a million times before, and he probably had. 

After it was finally over Greg downed the rest of his coffee, grimaced, and then decided to approach the man despite his better instincts. He thought he’d have to introduce himself again, not imagining that he was particularly remarkable, but as soon as he got within speaking distance, the man looked at him and got up from his chair.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade, Good Morning,” the man said, extending a hand which Greg shook. He again made no move to introduce himself, so Greg once again started up a conversation, not quite sure if it was welcome or not.

“You worked on the case then?”

“No, but I am of course quite familiar with in.”

“What’s your role in all this then,” Greg asked, confused.

The man waved his hand back towards the bloke who led the presentation, “It was Mr. Cunningham’s first high-profile presentation. I was sent along to observe, make sure it went well. I wouldn’t normally agree to something like this, but it let me escape from an even more boring meeting.”

“Must be pretty awful if it can be worse than this one.”

The man didn’t smile, but his eyes glittered with mirth, “What a world we live in, Detective Inspector, where meetings about the attempted assassination of cabinet members is boring.”

Greg laughed a shrugged and then noticed that the man was still holding a full cup of coffee in his hand, “Look, I’m sure you don’t have time, but would you like to get a cup of coffee better than that one?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up at that, and Greg could feel his face burning, not sure what had just come over him or why he’d even attempted such a thing, but in seconds the man regained his composure, “I’m afraid I’ve more things to attend to this afternoon.”

“Right. Of course, sorry,” Greg said sheepishly, breaking eye contact to look anywhere else.

“No need to apologize,” the man said, reaching down to pick up his umbrella as if to leave. 

Greg gave him a nod and then stepped back to let him move past. The man walked a few more paces before turning back around, “I am free other days.”

“Oh,” Greg said, his turn now to be surprised.

“I wouldn’t mind a coffee.”

“Erm alright. How should I contact you? Or, uh, when should we go?”

“I’ll be in touch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Greg had never been on a date with a person whose name he didn’t know beforehand, and he had to admit that it kind of freaked him out. At least it would be the most interesting date he’d been on for a while. He’d been ready for another relationship for some time now, missing the consistency in companionship and the feeling of trust in someone else. It had been a few years since his divorce from Bea, plenty of time for him to grieve and move on, and yet he still hadn’t managed to turn any dates into a long-term relationship of any kind. 

He didn’t feel particularly hopeful about this date either, but he figured it would at least break of the monotony of his daily life if nothing else. Of course, that would only be if it actually happened, and when he thought about it further, there was no way of knowing yet whether it was even a date or not.

After a few days with no contact, Greg began to think that maybe he’d miscalculated or misinterpreted. Maybe the man had no plans to contact him whatsoever. After worrying about it for a while and then resigning himself to the facts, he was surprised when he eventually got a call from an unknown number on his work phone. On the other end of the line a woman’s voice spoke.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade? This is Mr. Holmes secretary calling.”

“Mr. Holmes?”

“The woman paused, “One moment please,” and he could hear her moving around in the background, speaking to someone in a voice soft enough that he couldn’t quite understand before she spoke to him again, “Yes, Mr. Holmes. He would like for you to join him for a cup of coffee if you’re free this afternoon.”

“Oh right. Mr. Holmes, of course,” Greg felt slightly miffed at having to learn the man’s name (and only his last at that) from his secretary over the phone, but nevertheless he scrambled around on his desk to check his calendar, finding it relatively free for the afternoon, “I’m free.”

“Wonderful.”

“And where should I meet him?”

“He’d like you to pick the location.”

“Okay then, tell him I’ll be at Jefferson and Co. in an hour. It’s just down the block from my office.”

“I’ll give him the message,” the secretary said and then hung up.

oOo

Greg made sure he was at Jefferson and Co. a full five minutes early, yet even so, as he neared the café, he could already see the tall figure of Mr. Holmes standing outside the front entrance, leaning on the same umbrella he’d carried the other day, despite the unusually fair weather.

“Detective Inspector,” Mr. Holmes greeted him with a nod, “I hear Scotland Yard has not improved their coffee options in the last week.”

“They’ve not, Mr. Holmes.”

“Ah,” Mr. Holmes gave a small smile, “I see Anthea gave you my name.”

“Glad she did. Bit odd to go for coffee with a fellow whose name you don’t know.”

“I suppose I’m used to many odd things, but at this point there seems to be no harm in you knowing.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it.”

“If it means you’ll agree to join me for a cup,” Mr. Holmes said, motioning inside, “Then yes.”

Greg didn’t bother pointing out that he was the one who asked Mr. Holmes to coffee in the first place and instead followed him inside.

In all honesty, Greg didn’t much care for nice espresso drinks any more than he cared for the watered-down coffee in his office, so he just ordered a plain Americano and laughed when Mr. Holmes ordered a cup of English Breakfast.

“Might as well have not bothered with a coffee shop,” Greg teased.

“Hm. Indeed,” Mr. Holmes replied, and then Greg wasn’t sure what more to say.

Mr. Holmes watched him for a moment, his cool blue eyes seeming to study his face, before seeming to realize that Greg was stuck on conversation and jumped in calmly to save him (/must be a diplomat of some kind/ Greg thought at the ease of which Mr. Holmes seemed to start conversation out of nothing). Mr. Holmes asked about his job and his interests and when they both discovered that liked music and football to some degree or another, the conversation began to move naturally without Greg seeming to notice.

All too soon, Mr. Holmes looked at his watched and grimaced politely at Greg, “I have to get back to work, I’m afraid, but thank you for the afternoon distraction.”

“I enjoyed it as well,” Greg tapped his fingers against the tabletop for a moment, stopping when Mr. Holmes looked down at them, and then took a breath, “If you’ve got another slow afternoon next week, I’d enjoy having coffee,” he gestured at Mr. Holmes’ cup, “or tea I guess, with you again.”

“I’ll be out of the country next week, but when I’m back possibly,” Mr. Holmes said noncommittedly, but then he reached inside his jacket pocket, seeming to stop and think for a moment before pulling out a small white card and sliding it over to Greg.

On one side it read “Government Communications Headquarters” and then had a phone extension. Greg felt like Mr. Holmes likely did not work for that ministry, but he wasn’t going to doubt him now.

“That’s the extension for my assistant,” Mr. Holmes said as Greg looked at the card.

Greg nodded and then flipped it over to see a name written across the top, “Mycroft Holmes.”

He counted that as a victory.


	3. Chapter 3

All the next week, Greg went on with life as usual – he spent the weekend watching telly and cooking and even went to the amateur football club practice that he didn’t go to often enough. During the week he was distracted by new cases, and on the Tuesday and Thursday evenings he headed to the pub that was five blocks south from the Yard on the banks of the Thames.

He didn’t go to drink, at least not anymore. He’d started working there part time two years prior, because he wanted to keep going to the pub, but he found himself there drunk too often before and after the divorce, and one couldn’t drink while on the job. He’d been a bartender in uni as well, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it until he started back.

Thursday nights were the pub quiz, which was always a welcome distraction from whatever the week brought him, but Tuesdays were usually quieter. He got on late enough that he usually missed most of the after-work crowd, spending those nights cleaning up, restocking the liquors behind the counter, and pouring out shots for the couple of blokes who lingered late into the night and reminded him too much of his former self. 

This particular Tuesday, he found himself drawn away from the football match playing in the corner and more towards the usually ignored TV at the opposite end of the room that switched through the major news channels. He watched the broadcasts about the various conflicts, trade deals, leader summits, and state visits, and wondered which one, if any, had taken Mycroft out of the country.

He felt a bit weird trying to guess, having only known Mycroft for a couple hours in total added up, but he was still drawn to the newscasts, wondering with each succeeding one whether Mr. Holmes was there in his impeccable suits and whether he would be drinking shit coffee or a nice cup of English Breakfast.

oOo

As that week finally dragged to a close and the new one arrived, Greg began to wonder if he should call up Mycroft Holmes’ secretary or not. He still wasn’t sure where the other man imagined their relationship going, and it seemed to him much too early in their acquaintance to ask that sort of thing. After a couple more days of indecision and no word from Mycroft himself, Greg decided to finally just take the chance, figuring he’d been given the business card for one reason or another.

After a second awkward conversation with Mycroft’s secretary, they had another coffee meeting scheduled for midweek. Greg was careful to use the word “meeting.”

Although he’d personally like to change that to “date,” the fact that all of his correspondences were sent through the man’s assistant made him think that Mycroft wasn’t so inclined towards “date.” Though in all honesty, Greg had never interacted so much with someone quite like Mr. Holmes, so it was possible that maybe government officials all set up their romantic encounters through their personal assistants.

Greg did worry that Mycroft was already taken or wasn’t in to men or regardless of the first two, wasn’t interested in him, but when he saw Mycroft again on that Wednesday, the man greeted him with a soft smile and seemed glad enough to see Greg again.

Greg also took careful notice that there was no ring of any kind on Mr. Holmes’ thin fingers.

“Can you tell me where you were off to last week, then?” Greg asked after they had sat down.

“I’m afraid not.”

“I watched the news all week, though I might be able to figure it out.”

Mycroft looked bemused, “And did you?”

“No,” Greg laughed, “But I can try and guess. If I guess right will you tell me?”

“No,” Mycroft smiled back.

“Well it was worth a try.”

“How was your week?” Mycroft asked, and Greg could tell from the way he looked at him so sincerely and so directly that it wasn’t just friendly banter – he actually wanted to know.

“s’fine. Was a pretty normal week overall,” but Greg still talked to him about football and the case he’d wrapped up and his nights at the pub.

“Does being a Detective Inspector not keep you busy enough?” Mycroft quirked an eyebrow when Greg mentioned bartending.

“I guess it would for a normal bloke, but it gives me a reason to get out of the flat more. I hate spending too much time alone at home, gives me too much time to think,” he looked at Mycroft for understanding, and the other man shrugged a little.

“I’ve lived alone for most of my life at this point,” Mycroft said as an answer.

“I should be used to it, but I got divorced a while back and before that, I never had my own place, went straight from living with family to having roommates to getting married,” Greg could feel his face heat up a little, not meaning to have shared that in the moment, but Mycroft seemed unfazed. He just kept looking at Greg with the same look of sincerity he had been a moment before, and Greg had to remind himself that divorce was perfectly normal.

“Just because you’re used to something doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

Greg shrugged and looked down into his coffee, trying to think of another thing they could talk about.

“You should come by the pub sometime.”

Mycroft looked surprised, “I’m not really an avid pub-goer.”

Greg laughed, “When was the last time you went to a pub?”

Mycroft stopped to think for a moment and then chuckled, “I really have no idea.”

“All the more reason to come, then.”

“I’ll consider it.”

oOo

He did more than just consider it.

Greg didn’t expect him to come the next night, and he didn’t. He didn’t necessarily expect him to come at all though, so the next Tuesday as he was wiping off the bar and saw the tall, thin man with his shock of red hair walk carefully into the pub, he felt a smile bloom across his face.

He waved his hand not holding the rag, and Mycroft came over to the bar. 

Greg gestured for him to sit as he went to put the rag away, and Mycroft did, crossing his long legs and resting his umbrella against the stool. He did look out of place with his perfect posture and cleanly tailored suit, but Greg was absolutely chuffed that he had come.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever actually come by.”

A very slight blush dusted the other man’s cheeks, and he tapped his fingers lightly against the countertop, “I wasn’t quite sure either.”

“What made up your mind, then?” Greg knew he was being cheeky, but he couldn’t help it.

Mycroft looked over at the TV, not saying anything for a moment, before turning back to Greg and saying honestly, “I’m curious about you.”

All Greg could manage to say was a soft “Oh,” butterflies pooling in is stomach.

“I’ve found that I quite enjoy your company,” Mycroft said, blue eyes staring into Greg’s, and then he smiled, “And my assistant, Anthea, has told me that she can’t be the only person I really talk to.”


End file.
